flowers in her hair and misery in her heart
by lilypads
Summary: by the month of october, they are brought together. —kakashisakura


**notes**: this was _supposed _to be for some contest on deviant art, but i went over the word limit by about... seven hundred words-ish & i really don't want to cut it down. so i'm uploading it here instead. i know i have another kakasaku in progress at the moment! this was not supposed to be on here, bare in mind. but ah. i cannot control my feelings towards these two, it seems.

**title**: flowers in her hair and misery in her heart.  
**summary**: by the month of october, they are brought together. —Kakashi/Sakura

six years we've all been living here  
grow up, growing up is tough.  
-—aunt martha

* * *

Sakura opened up the rickety gate with a forceful shove.

The echo of a creak seemed to intensify as birds parted the trees and the wind blew past her, taking her hair with it. Locks of rose swept upwards with the sodden, orange leaves that had been scattered along the pathway peacefully. The wind was always a companion in the months of autumn—it raged on just as the world rotated and the sun and the moon appeared. Sakura had gotten used to this weather by now.

Her feet took her through the pathway, emerald eyes searching without purpose through the canopy. This place was usually silent. The only sounds came from a dull force of wind that racked the branches and seemed to move the earth. But aside from that—and the constant twitter of irritating birds—there was nothing but a sense of eerie tranquillity.

Sakura had everything she needed for this routine visit, like she did every year. Except this time, it felt almost like walking out a path that seemed to get smaller and smaller as she moved. Eighteen, she was now. A pinnacle in her teenage years, apparently. But she felt nothing but a steady numb in her chest, in her heart. Shutting her eyes briefly, it almost felt as if she wasn't approaching a place that could tear down her walls in moments.

Her father had offered to join, weakly, but how could he stand to look at it when he could barely look at _himself? _She had turned his offer down politely, smartly. There needn't be room for a man who chose to close his eyes and stand still. Time moved on, the world was still moving and the wind—most unfortunately—was still persistent.

So she went alone because at least if she was alone, no one would see how weak _she _was.

Sakura re-opened her eyes and tried not to let the thoughts drag her down; this was just another year with another bouquet of flowers and another attempt at stringing together feeble words and promises. Just another year. Just another try. Yet another goodbye.

* * *

By the time she reached the memorial ground, Sakura had grown cold and weary.

In most cases, the memorial grounds tended to at least inhabit a few lost souls, a few people who came to mourn the dead. But today there was no one but her and a tall figure in the distance. She barely paid any attention to them and instead strode towards the greying stone off in the corner. Sakura wove through countless headstones, all etched with the same font, the same words. It almost sickened her to see the lack of respect; lack of originality to these stones.

But—she knew. She knew that as a ninja, you were torn from leading a respectful life from the moment you left the academy. All of those times she would lay on her bed, staring up at her ceiling, thinking about what it was like to be a ninja, _just like her. _Like the woman who shone brighter than a beam of sunlight, like the woman who was tougher than iron.

Like her mother.

To be the bravest, the strongest, the one whom everyone looked up to. To be like her, Sakura used to think, would be what dreams were made of.

"But you're dead," Sakura finished off lamely, dryly.

In front of her was another old stone, withered by age and weather, with the words:

Haruno Mebuki

_fought valiantly  
&will forever  
be remembered as a hero_

Bitterness was the first emotion Sakura always felt as she read those words—because her mother _was _a hero, a hero who wasn't brave enough, wasn't strong enough and certainly wasn't quick enough. But as bitterness gave way to sorrow, Sakura knelt down on the damp grass and reached out a shaky, cold hand to the engraving.

"Why did you have to leave us, mum," she whispered, closing eyes that stung with unshed tears. "Why did it have to be you?"

Behind closed eyes Sakura could remember everything. From warm mornings and waking up to the smell of syrup-coated anko dumplings; from her mother and fathers laughter tinkling the house; from attending the Spring festival every year... to the night before the mission that killed her. Mebuki's eyes had looked tired, withdrawn, but she had given Sakura a smile, a kiss on the forehead and a, _"be good, Sakura" _and left.

When she never returned, the third Hokage had delivered the news with sombre eyes and a distant voice.

Sakura's first reaction was to call denial. Nothing could have killed _her _mother—surely. Not a kunai, not a jutsu, not a senbon and not even a genjutsu. She was her tough, strong, fiery mother. She was everything Sakura wanted to be. She was dead.

_Gone, gone, gone, gone, _"Gone, gone, _gone!_" before she had even realised it, the dam she had carefully constructed had broken. Tears, so many godforsaken tears leaked freely from her usually hard, determined, fierce green eyes. Now they trailed down her rosy cheeks, mingling with each other and dripping off her chin like rain drops hitting the ground after a thunderstorm.

Her hand clamped down on the cool stone, her head bowed and her body convulsing with sobs.

Everything burned. Her heart was beating violently; her eyes stung and her throat was dry. It was like an immense pain had enveloped her and chosen this moment to attack—to strike her and kick her when she was down. Usually only a few tears would slip free, but today, Sakura was _afraid. _Afraid because her father was a ghost of himself, afraid because all her friends were happy whilst she was miserable and afraid because she was _alone. _

So wrapped up in the anguish she was, Sakura scarcely noticed the approaching figure.

That was, until, they rested a hand on her shaking shoulder.

But in this moment—in this wretched state of exposed weakness—she barely reacted. She hadn't even bought a weapon out with her. Hadn't assumed she would need one. Besides, if this person wanted to hurt her, this would be the perfect opportunity to do so. But it was just a hand on her shoulder. Not a kunai in her neck.

"Sakura," his voice was faraway. Like hearing an echo of sound from underwater, she bit her lips and closed her eyes—_why him? _

He gave her time to collect herself, like the polite and well mannered gentleman he was, whilst he simply knelt there and stared off into the trees. Sakura took three shuddering breaths before she managed to meet his visible eye. Trust him to be out in the memorial ground, trust him to find her in this moment, trust him to impose so casually on her like this.

"Kakashi," she finally found her voice, weak from the crying.

He turned back to her and surveyed her with a concerned eye. "Are you all right?" he asked thickly.

Sakura looked back at the stone. _Are you all right. _So many things she could reply to that. No, she wasn't all right, though you would never catch her admitting that. But clearly if he had caught her_ non-verbally admitting _that, then he should know that she wasn't all right. He should know that everything was teetering on the edge of falling off the cliff.

But then again, maybe he didn't.

"I'm... all right," Sakura finally said, her eyes staring at stone but taking nothing in. "I was just paying my respects to my mother."

"First of October," he commented softly, distantly—the day she had died. Kakashi only knew this because he had found her crying about it in the training grounds. She had stolen a few kunai from her parent's weaponry set and took out all her rage, her disappointment, her _fucking agony _in throwing kanai at a tree. Horribly, though. Her aim had always been terrible.

"First of October," she echoed.

Kakashi sighed. "Sakura," and she knew first hand what he was about to say, "you can talk to me, you know that, don't you? I... don't want to force myself on your grieving, but you've always been strong and seeing you like this well—I. I don't like it."

Sakura wearily wiped her tear-stained cheeks, sitting back on her backside. She moved her bag to her lap and let out a long, overdue breath of air. It was like all the misery and the loss and the damn hopelessness seemed to just release from her body. Like a weight had been lifted mercifully from her very heart, her soul. Kakashi always did have that kind of presence, though.

"I'm okay, really, Kakashi," Sakura looked over at him, giving him a weak—but no less reassuring—smile. "I just miss her, is all. What with everything being so hectic at the moment, I just wish she could give me some words of encouragement, advice. Anything really."

"If she could see how much you've grown, Sakura," said Kakashi, who had shifted into a more comfortable position, "she would be proud of you." he then turned and gave _her _a smile (well, she only saw the eye-crease of it). But it made her feel aeons better. Somehow he had always managed to lift her heavy heart. On the day he had found her in the training ground, he had allowed her to take it all out on him—throw kunai after kunai, scream and shout curse after curse.

Then when she was about to drop from exhaustion and the pain of loss, he had caught her.

Like he always had.

"I hope so," she murmured, a sad smile appearing across her face. "I brought her some carnations"—Sakura dug in her bag and pulled out the bouquet of lightly tinged pink flowers—"it's actually kind of horribly ironic, the story behind these flowers. They're originally supposed to hold some sort of symbol to a mothers undying love. I read it in a book from the library the other day whilst I was with Sai." Sakura faced him once more and found the silent comfort in his dark eye.

"Why is it horribly ironic?" though Kakashi rather thought he already knew.

Sakura shook her head, staring down into the flowers as if they held all the answers to her woes. "Because... because my mother is dead, therefore the legend is wrong. A mothers love cannot be undying if she is dead, Kakashi."

Another tear slipped free from her barrier and Sakura cursed herself inwardly. The liquid was hot against her icy cheeks but it was still unwanted, but before she got a chance to shake it away angrily, Kakashi softly swept it away with the pad of his calloused thumb. Her eye's remained resolutely on the carnations as a blush formed beneath his touch.

"They may not be alive here," Kakashi said with surprising conviction. "But they'll always be alive in _here._"

He had a hand over his chest, looking so un-Kakashi like that Sakura felt her breath hitch in her throat. There was a look in his eye—a look she had seen staring back at her in the mirror so often—that made her blood pump viciously through her veins; made her mouth parched and her brain blank. It screamed regret and remorse and_ so much _unwavering devotion.

It was as if he had just given her his entire life story with one flick of an eye.

"Kakashi..." her voice trailed off uncertainly.

Then it was gone. And he was looking at her coolly once more. "You shouldn't stop believing, Sakura," he said almost casually.

"I... I haven't," and she hadn't. Despite all of her contempt, she missed her mother more than she had missed anything. Sakura nodded with a lot more strength this time and bent over to place the carnations on the patch of grass where her mother lay beneath. When she pulled back and stared at the grey stone, she no longer saw through.

Kakashi stood up and offered her a hand and she took it without a second thought. They stood there in silence that felt like forever, but was probably, in fact, just a few minutes. The unrelenting wind blew past them both, blowing their hair into their faces, but she no longer felt the cold. All Sakura paid attention to now was the feeling of Kakashi's fingers as they entwined with her own, and the feeling of pride swelling up in her chest.

_I'm so proud of you, mum, _she though, for the first time, happily.

* * *

They were about to turn and leave, hand-in-hand and heart-to-heart, when Kakashi suddenly stopped.

"What?" Sakura frowned.

But Kakashi wasn't listening. He bent down and plucked one single washed out pink carnation from the bunch and got back up. In his fingers he rolled the stem and then looked back at Sakura, who was giving him a strange look. Kakashi smiled and said, "Come here."

She complied.

Kakashi lifted the flower to her hair and tucked it behind a few strands.

"Undying love or no," he remarked easily. "I still reckon they'd look better on you than on the floor."


End file.
